Mr. and Mrs. Marshall went out to the stable with the girls, and as they went up the narrow stairs there was a shout of laughter from the club room, laughter so mirth-compelling that the girls giggled involuntarily.  At Mr. Marshall’s peremptory knock there was a sudden stillness; then the door opened a crack and in a choked voice Arthur said, “Just hold the line a second, please, and we’ll let you in.”

Almost as he spoke there was a low, “all right now,” from Joe, and Arthur threw the door wide open.  For an instant the guests coming from the dark stairway into the brightly lighted room could hardly see; then as they took in the general appearance of their hosts the room rang with laughter.

The boys were all dressed in shirt-waists and skirts, with neat white collars and little bows of various kinds.  The skirts came to the tops of their boots, and as they had donned the heaviest, biggest boots they could find, the result was amusing.  They all wore frivolous little aprons, and on their heads jaunty white caps perched on hair which made the girls go off into fresh fits of merriment.  It was the most wonderful hair-dressing the girls had ever seen; heavy braids, thick curls, even pompadours—­and all made out of yarn.

“What happened that made you keep us waiting?” asked Ruth as she wiped real tears from her eyes.

“Betty fell over his skirt and had to fix it on again,” said Phil with a twinkle, realizing that the girls hadn’t yet taken in the full meaning of the performance.

Then it was the boys’ turn to laugh, for, looking at Joe’s red wig, the girls knew at once what Phil meant, and each hurried to pick out the imitation of herself.

“Do you mean to tell me I look like that?” asked Dorothy, pointing a scornful finger at Jack, who was deeply engaged in tightening a large, black bow which dangled at the end of his long, yellow braid.

“Why, Dolly, I flattered myself I was the handsomest one of the bunch, and now you speak harshly to me,” protested Jack in a tone of great grief.

“So far as beauty goes there isn’t much choice between you,” said Charlotte meditatively.  Her eye was taking in Phil’s tall, slender figure, upon which the skirt hung in limp folds.  His brown braids were twined about his head in a coronet, a style with which Charlotte’s mirror was familiar.

“Oh, those ridiculous boys!  Do see my bunch of curls,” shrieked Ruth, getting around where she could better see the back of Arthur’s head.

“Whatever made you think to do it, you silly things?” asked Betty, eyeing with disfavor the magenta-colored hair which graced the head of her double.

“Why, we are going to cook a supper for you to-night, and we thought we couldn’t follow better models as to dress than the celebrated Cooking Club,” answered Phil making a low bow with his hand on his heart.

“Do get to work, then,” said Dolly with great disdain.  “Let’s see if you can imitate our cooking as remarkably as you have our looks.”